With this work by Robert D. Taylor, we continue to highlight original fiction and poetry from writers who have yet to publish a book, or who published their first book at age 40 or older.
Rest and Relaxation
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On the plane to Fort Lauderdale, I read
My Year of Rest and Relaxation.Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published
She had a year. I only have four days, So I order a Cuba Libre. When I realize the first day has already begun, I order another one.
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A big corner hotel room with balconies that face South and West, allowing the light and breeze to pass through. Beaches, drinks, and dining. I do my best to play the part.
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Walking along the beach one night, passing a pile of clothes on the shore. Wrapped in the dark warm waters wrapped in themselves, a young couple giggles and wades out in the surf.
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Another night, stopping on the beach to watch a thunderstorm far off in the distance. Like fireworks, too far away to harm, but close enough.
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That separation.
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Like the drug-induced torpor from our narrator. Or the clever, superficial social media post. Allowing it all to pass through. Until it no longer does.
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Collected Correspondences
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I am fighting a ghost in a city and an apartment, with a broomstick with an umbrella from my past.
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At opposite corners of the room, sounds from two human-sized speakers Wind blowing, and a voice talking about the body, about the trees about what is real to the mist.
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Succubus cat laying on my chest, turns and scratches with one toe claw, my outstretched arm, sniffing at my mouth, sucking out my soul? planting doubt? then disappears.
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I am left alone with trying to remember an itch, a scratch I cannot stop scratching where I placed the letter.
Robert D. Taylor lives in Baltimore, Maryland. He has a Master of Fine Arts in Printmaking and Book Arts. He is married with twenty-year-old twins. He is a licensed architect in the State of Maryland. When he is not working, he sometimes writes and makes images. They can be found at let.bray.or.rot.medium.com and instragram.com/let.bray.or.rot.
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